Rising up
by bakusuki
Summary: What made him the way he is? A young Tala endures the Abbey under Boris' reign, he endures his hardships, but at least he endures it with his friends, right?
1. Chapter 1

Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening, (depending on where you are in the world!) I've finally been given another idea for another piece of writing, and there's been a couple of tweaks here and there, but I'm quite excited to post this, and see what you think of it. I'm definitely going to make another chapter, maybe another few, depending on the direction that this goes!

With that being said, the idea has come from a dear friend that I communicate with through Tumblr, and I decided to write this considering that it's her birthday today! Happy birthday Janni. So yes, this completely her idea, with influences to the manga and anime. Anyway, I'm all for hearing your ideas on fanfics and what you'd like to see written, so feel free to drop ideas within the reviews or private message me. _Please note: I will not write rape scenarios, nor imply that rape has been conducted. The reason being is that, one: I have no understanding of the aftermath, (though I do watch a lot of crime series) I will not write something that I do not have a full understanding of. I will not write in depth about the use and abuse of drugs, it can be implied within my writing, but it's not something that I will go into depth about._ All other ideas will probably be accepted, and spoken about in greater detail!

Anyway, enough of me rambling on, and such. So this is completely based around Tala and his early days within the abbey. There _may_ be flashbacks or mentions of his mother and his father, and Bryan will definitely make an appearance, as well as Ian and Spencer! Kai will **not** appear within this, and there certainly will be no mention of him, as I'm also not buying the idea of Kai and Tala being childhood friends from the abbey? Considering how they responded to one another within the first season would suggest otherwise. I believe that their paths may have crossed now and again, but neither were interested in the other enough to actually interact - plus I don't want this to be about Kai, nor potential relationships.

There possibly will be mentions of physical abuse and verbal abuse (to some extent), as well as emotional grooming. Please be aware of this if it contains any of your triggers. **Stay safe, my loves.** If you want to drop some ideas and some reviews, honestly that would mean the world to me, but don't feel pressured to do so! - Ellis.

* * *

Tala can see the other is musing silently on the question that the small redhead has previously posed. _Is it going to be forever_? The lilac haired boy aside of him is currently musing on the mouthful of sandwich that he'd managed to force into his mouth - Bryan ceases to amaze the redhead. Cerulean hue dances away from the boy and moves towards his lap, idly squeezing his knees against themselves as he attempts to balance the lunch he'd taken from the lunch hall. It was a silly attempt really, because Tala was known for absentmindedly moving his legs. It doesn't help that occasionally he's rocking his legs, balls of his heels pressing slightly up against the wall that he's set upon.

"Probably." Bryan finally states - mouth still full of the sandwich - and apparently it had taken Bryan a lot longer to chew his food that Tala first assumed, not to mention, that Tala didn't really wish to see what Bryan had chosen to eat today. Regardless, Bryan seems to have sealed their fate within one word, and part of Tala can't decide if he's generally happy with a sealed future, or if he's uncertain. Before the abbey, he'd imagined his future to be dim, full of scuffed knees and begging hands, bloodied lips and raw noses, nipped by the curiosity of Russia's harsh winters. He'd also imagined that his future would become a lot brighter, if his mother ever decided to return, and his father became even half of the man that he had once been. But that was also a long time ago, and Tala really should not be ungrateful for what the abbey and Boris have provided them with. "Sounds like a long time, doesn't it?" Bryan breaks the silence once again, this time he's demolished the sandwich, and is currently wiping his mouth against small hands.

Tala, on the other hand, is wiping bitterly at his nose. He'd been so caught up in silently telling himself off for not seeming grateful, that he'd almost not heard what Bryan had said. _Forever is a long time_ , though Tala isn't sure just how long it is, but he assumes it says everything that it needs too. The redhead simply provides a faint nod, loose strands managing to almost fall into his eyes, and thankfully, the breeze of Russia's winter managed to blow it from his view. He supposes, in reality, he doesn't mind if he has to stay within the abbey forever - well to some extent. It's better than being out within the cold, fighting a brutal and ongoing war in aid of feeding and providing for yourself and your own father. It's better than attempting to do everything you can to stay out of your fathers way, but in doing so, managing to only infuriate him more so, thus succumbing to his furious outbursts. To begin, Tala hadn't minded, he'd put up with a lot, including a screaming and crying mother who had attempted to protect her son, and bargain with her husband. Tala had believed it was something that would pass, and that his father would be okay again, that it was a harsh wave crashing up against rock faces, and like nature, it's presence would peel away. It didn't, and Tala often daydreams his mother didn't leave him - no, she wouldn't. _She couldn't leave him_ , not her little boy.

"You've not touched your food." Bryan states, pointing innocently towards Tala's lap. A dip of his crown, and Tala registered that he really had started to daydream, and it was thanks to Bryan that his food wasn't on the floor. What would he do without him?

"I don't think I'm _that_ hungry."

"You said that yesterday." With palms pressed against the wall, Bryan manages to shuffle his legs forward, so much so, that they're completely hanging off of the wall, and with a short thud, Tala notices that Bryan's comfort it no longer aside of him. The lilac haired boy is upon his feet, wiping the crumbs that had collected within the span of his lap. "You also said that the day before. You know Boris won't be very happy if you don't eat again." In a mock notion, Bryan is wriggling his index finger at the other, as if attempting to tell him off, whilst maintaining a hand upon his hip, broadening out his shoulders. His stance is enough to bring a faint smile of coral to label Tala's features and within his reluctance, he coils small fingers around his sandwich, before following suit and hopping down from the wall. He supposes the other is right, Boris wouldn't be happy if he found out that Tala had skipped yet another meal.

* * *

The first time Boris had discovered that Tala had skipped a meal, it had been the first time that Boris had laid a sharp hand upon him. He'd been furious, there'd been a hard exchange of words in aid of condemning Tala, but Boris had softened shortly afterwards - or at least, his tone of voice had. A tightened hand had clapped down upon his shoulder, in a vice like grip, reminding Tala that he was only so angry that Tala would do this to himself because lunch was an important meal, _and that Boris was also in control_. Tala recalled the lecture on how they were provided with three meals a day, all of which ran at set times, in ordering of running the children to a strict routine that would aid their training. In fact, Boris had even stated that there was a relation between successful meals eaten, and a bladers ability, and Tala just went with it, because truth be told? He didn't really understand statistics, and when he tried to question Bryan, Bryan simply dismissed it with a shrug and claimed it as: _pure nonsense, but whatever gets him through his day, gets me through mine too_.

The second time Boris had discovered that Tala had missed breakfast, was due to him wanting to be the first out for morning laps. Boris had reminded Tala of his place within the hierarchy - not that Tala actually understood what a hierarchy was, though he supposed it was important - and apparently Tala belonged under the guards, and it should always remain that way. Tala had even made the efforts to argue how important training was to him, and how it was important to become the greatest creation to come from the abbey and step into the Beyblading community... Boris had neglected to address that, and as punishment had prevented Tala from having meals for the rest of the day. Bryan had been Bryan however, and whilst he usually had kept himself to himself, he'd also not understood the harsh torment that Boris had bestowed upon Tala, simply for wanting to be the best. Tala had scolded him that night. That night Bryan had managed to get into his room, pockets full of bread. It wasn't much, but it had been something, and Tala had been grateful for Bryan in doing so, but reminded him of the consequences if it was ever discovered that one: Bryan had stolen from the kitchen, and two: he'd come out of his room at this time of night.

A week or so later, Tala had witnessed an older boy missing out of his breakfast, he had dark hair, almost black, in fact, Tala was certain he saw the reflection of the stars amongst untamed strands. He had an unkind face however, and carried himself with something akin to arrogance. Said boy had also disappeared for two days, and Tala can admit he almost missed seeing him on their morning laps, and that counting the stars amongst his hair had become Tala's favourite thing to do. The rumour had sparked that the older boys could withstand severe torment, and a day after, Tala had witnessed the boy attempting to eat his breakfast. His hair had seemed more untamed than usual, and Tala couldn't count the stars this time, and there was something hideous about his face... Of course. He was sporting a bruised mouth, and could barely sit without having to fidget. Tala almost felt sorry for him, but then remembered; the older boys should know better.

* * *

He'd finished his sandwich quicker than he'd anticipated, and was soon heading back towards the building. The abbey seemed to loom over them like a curse, and Tala couldn't help but wonder, what it would be like to see things away from the confined and cold spaces of abbey. Of course, he'd like to train first, and become the greatest, and then discover the world out there, but he assumed that wasn't part of why the abbey had wanted him in the first place. Perhaps, it was ridiculous for a small child like himself to even imagine that he'd see the world beyond the abbey again, never mind dream of becoming the greatest blader to wield blade and bitbeast. He'd be taught about bitbeasts too, and told how not even the older boys actually had them. Boris said that bitbeasts couldn't just be given away, no matter your skill, nor how old you were, for that matter, but in fact, it was whether you were worthy enough to wield one of the fine beasts that science had managed to create.

"Say, Bryan. Do you think we'll become one of the next generation bladers that Boris keeps talking about?" Tala inquires as they enter the building. He almost feels as if his very voice is ringing, and that the walls might have ears, but even then, he's speaking within a hushed tone, and it really should only be Bryan who could hear him anyway. All the other boys seemed more interested in returning to their dorms in order to change into something more suitable for the periods they'd spend down in the gyms. Either that, or they were more interested in talking about the positions for the teams that Boris had been thorough about, though apparently that was something that Boris wouldn't address until a few years later - when he was certain that his strict routine of training and such, was proven to be a success. Tala was almost envious that the older boys got to talk about it, like it was the next step within their lives, Tala and Bryan, on the other hand, would simply be reminded that they were pipsqueaks, and had a few years ahead of them before Boris would even consider them.

"When you put it like that, it sounds nice to think about it that way." Bryan mumbles, turning his head slightly within Tala's direction, but soon turning away again, to focus on navigating themselves between the many floors, and winding corridors. Thankfully, Bryan and Tala had dorms on the same floor, but even then, they were quite some distance away. Truth be told, when Bryan says it as such, it does sound next to become one of the next generation bladers to take a position upon the Neoborg team. Tala often imagines what he looks like on the big screen, or when his name is being read out in lights, or when he steps out onto the platform as the team captain... His thoughts escape him however when he finally reaches his dorm, it's as if the very existence of his room was enough to draw out the childish enthusiasm that he so clung onto, like it was the last string of reality that he had. Perhaps that was the case. The windows were high out of his reach, and he wasn't all too sure if that was generally down to the lack of his height, or if the windows actually were high up... But one time Bryan said that he could reach and was able to out... Though Tala didn't really believe him, and often put it down to Bryan attempting to get one over him. The windows were high however, but they existed, and when Tala entered his room, flakes of sunlight were cast down upon him, grasping onto the ivory of his face, and causing him to blink momentarily and guard himself from sight. He claims that his room actually looks prettier on a night time, when the milky reflection of the moon, dazzles the concrete floor, and Tala manages to push himself far up against the wall, just to see the cream lights of stars flitting amongst a velvet backdrop.

Tala changed out of his current clothing, for the sake of changing into something that felt fresher against him, and preferably something that was more fitting for practice. That morning they'd had laps and their usual gym periods. 6am beginnings, and a half an hour slot that allowed you time to gather yourself together, and make sure you were in position on time. Gym periods were more satisfying to Tala, probably because he and Bryan were deemed as high performers, and both had yet to be placed under the scrutiny of the guards. Not to mention that Tala was pretty serious about getting a position on the team, even if his chance was a few years away yet - he had to prove himself worthy of performing under the Neoborg name. He is worthy. Outside he notes the faint bickering of two voices, seems ones rather confident, and the other seems timid, but agrees to the bet no doubt. Of course. How could Tala assume it was anyone else? Ian and Bryan always make bets before gym periods. In fact, they make bets before anything that they've ever done. Just the other day, Bryan bet that he could get more laps in than Ian could, and when that was case, Ian put it down to being a lot shorter than Bryan, thus earning himself the nickname 'short stake'. _He is pretty short, I have to give Bryan that one_. Yesterday the two actually bet who could fit more in their mouths, and Tala could swear he's never seen two boys stuff their faces to the extent they did. Ian won however, and then demanded laps from Bryan, who declined on the grounds that technically, Ian should do laps too, since it was part of the fitness routine anyway. Tala supposed that was their way of motivating each other.

Tala's form of motivation came in the form of kind words, and encouragement, if anything, he'd learnt that, that was the way of a team captain, and if you wanted to be a team captain, _you had to act like one_. Tala also had friendly bouts with one of the slightly older boys, Spencer. He actually wasn't that much older than himself, maybe a year, or two, maybe he was even the same age as Bryan, but Tala had never been sure. He and Spencer made their bets of, who could handle a launcher better, or who could run the fastest, or who could successfully carry more weight than the other. Spencer had beaten Tala on many occasions in terms of weight, Tala put it down to his build, but Tala had also beaten him once, and Spencer claimed that he'd apparently overworked the day before, therefore couldn't carry as much. Tala regarded it as nonsense, and went about continuing his training. He and Spencer certainly do not have bets about who could put the most in their mouth, or could drink their cup of water the fastest, or for that matter... Who could hold on the longest before they needed to go to the toilet. You could say, that despite the severity of the nature that Tala had found himself within, himself and his friends managed to find some sort of fun.

He'd simply shook his head at the bet that Bryan and Ian were making, and Spencer's faint laugh had been enough to have them all turn within his direction. Tala wasn't even sure of just how long the boy had been stood there, but regardless, he quickly threw on his t-shirt, and tucked it's hem into the waist of his trousers.

"I suppose whatever helps in passing time, helps the smaller minded." Spencer noted - a joke, of course, - and even Tala found himself almost biting down into his knuckle to prevent his laughter from ringing throughout the halls.

"You wanna say that to my face, tough guy?" Bryan snorts, balled up fists at his side, and Tala can sense that Spencer is half tempted to repeat himself, and Bryan is also half tempted to jaw Spencer... If he could reach him. Tala simply provides a faint shake of his head, registering his own notion of decline, before he steps between the two.

"He was joking, really. You know, we really should head for practice. The last thing we want is to be late." Tala looks between his lilac haired friend, and his much taller friend, who is currently nodding contently to himself, but Tala notes the muscles within one's jaw working away silently, and even he ca tell that Spencer is contemplating repeating himself. Bryan finally nods, and apparently the consequences of not turning up for practice outweigh the joy he'd get from pounding Spencer in the face. He knows he's joking, but boys will be boys, and Bryan also claims that it would be great sparring practice, much to Tala's own dismay, who on many occasion, has reminded Bryan that they are aiming to become the greatest beybladers, not boxers.

* * *

Practice began like it always did. You collect your own blade, clean it and perfect it, before you even consider lifting it to your launcher. You make all the little tweaks that you have to - if necessary - because everything has to be perfect. You practice your own personal sequences and techniques, you prove why you're here and why you deserve to be claimed the greatest of them all. Tala always made it a thing to _slightly_ show off... Then again, everyone probably took it in turns to show off, even just a little bit, and everyone wanted their moment to be written within the stars, when Boris was overseeing the events... And it just so happened that he'd decided to step into the room today, and conduct his own observation. Naturally, guards had given him ideas of the best boys to watch: the one's that really had that spark, or those who had surpassed their other scores. He'd watched Ian first. Ian had been up against some other short kid, but he was a little chubbier than Ian, and puffed out his cheeks a lot whenever Ian's blade struck his. Tala had been certain that he'd witnessed debris of the kids blade flying here and there, and well, everywhere. The other kid had muttered something under his breath occasionally, Tala imagined it was probably a vow that he couldn't lose.

No one wanted to lose. They were taught that they couldn't lose, nor should they accept defeat, and if they did lose... Well defeat was the greatest humiliation of them all. Tala never wanted to feel such humiliation as that. He'd been chastised and punished before, but apparently the extent that 'losers' were exposed too, reached a new level of torment and punishment. Some boys had never been seen again, but Tala assumed that's because they had lost of multiple occasions and had proven to Boris that they couldn't get better, nor were they worthy of the program. Other boys were not seen for weeks, and when they did return, they were colder than before, and wore faces crafted from steel. Nonetheless, the very thought makes him shudder.

He's brought of of his moment of silence when there's a clashing of blades, and finally silence. The chubby boy is muttering something aggressively, like he's begging for another chance, and Ian is attempting to hold back a laugh. His laughter isn't out of malice, but out of pure amusement that the kid thought he could beat him. The reality strikes, and Tala realises that it wasn't the chubby kids blade who had come out of the dish... It was his own. In what seemed a mere moment to reflect on things that shouldn't, nor wouldn't, happen to him, Tala had completely switched off to his surroundings. He hadn't even noticed that pale and lithe digits that had tightly coiled around his launcher had loosened, and in a split second, his world had come crashing around him. There's hushed utters, whispers and... There's a heavy thudding of one's body making contact with the concrete beneath him. His own knees are pressed firm to the cold, hands quivering before him as he attempts to recall the pieces of his blade, the slight debris of the top ring that has cracked here and there, and beneath, the attack ring seems completely shattered. Tala feels like he is all fingers and thumbs and is incapable of gathering the pieces together, before he notes the piercing shadow of authority looming over him. He won't cry, or at least, he's trying not to, he's going to be the team captain after all. The redhead leans back upon the balls of his heels, hands pressed closed over what he could gather of his blade, though he assumes that, that honestly made no difference, and for Tala's punishment, Boris is going to destroy his blade anyway.

"Foolish boy, look at the mess you've made." _Foolish boy_. Tala had become so accustomed to hearing Boris refer to him as: my son, that foolish boy feels as if he's staring back in the face of his actual father, and he's the foolish boy who couldn't out of the fast enough. The foolish boy who had tripped over his laces, in the efforts to escape his father's violence. _It was an accident. A simple mistake. I swear it'll never happen again. I'll be the best_. He wants to speak, Gods, does he wish that he could speak, but he's frozen to the spot, numbed by this pain, this notion of being a failure, slowly succumbing to the idea of humiliation. He doesn't want to imagine the look upon his friends faces when they realise that Tala is **not** captain material. He let them down... _He let himself down_.

* * *

So here's a little note: once again, this is my friends idea, **all I did was flesh her idea out some more and whatnot**. I really hated the idea of Tala losing, but I had this painful image in my head of this small redhead attempting to not cry as he gathers the remains on his blade. There is definitely going to be another chapter, and the reason for throwing this little ending in, is to support the rest of my friends idea. I mean, you all have to learn the hard way?

Of course, if you don't agree with what I've written, then you don't have to read it. I'm all down for reviews, if you've got any, or any other ideas you want to throw at me, I'm all down for receiving help and whatnot, but please don't leave rude comments, they won't be appreciated, and will probably go ignored to be honest. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, my loves, and I'm hoping to be update with a second chapter, very shortly! - Ellis. xxxx


	2. Chapter 2

I am so sorry that I didn't update this with a second chapter when I said I would. Despite having all the ideas and basic plot line laid out, I've just incapable of writing something, or at least, writing something that I actually gave a damn about. The last thing I wanted was to give you something that was lazy and half-arsed. Your views and reviews have meant, - and will continue - to mean the absolute world to me, the last thing I want to repay you guys with, was something that I had no care about. I have wrote and rewrote this chapter again and again, saving bits here and there, and I think I am finally happy to share this second chapter with you.

A few things I want to clear up, as I have had a few messages in regards to it. Tala is **not** Boris' son, I think that was accidentally implied, but that was not my intentions, as I wish to maintain the backstory that has originally intended for Tala, _which involves his father becoming dependent on alcohol, and abusive, thus eventually driving his mother away. I am so sorry if people got the otherwise idea!_ Once again, I am more than happy to discuss new ideas, or take requests for if there is anything that you would like to see written, however please remember: **I will not write rape scenario's. It makes me uncomfortable, and I do not wish to write about something that I have no full understanding in, nor do I understand the aftermath. I will not go into depth about drug use and it's misuse, and it's very rare that I will write smut scenarios**.

Anyway, enough of that. Here is a second chapter for my sweet redheaded son. I know some people hated the idea of Tala losing, and man, so did I. I felt so bad after I wrote it, but hopefully this chapter might make up for it, maybe even a little bit. _There is going to be a flashback scenario, and it will be marked as so, maybe in italic, or something!_ Your views and reviews would mean the world to me, so if you can, please feel free to drop a few lines, but please, do not feel pressured to do so. I can only thank you for taking the time to read. I love you guys! - Ellis.

* * *

Broken. That's all he felt, and perhaps, that wasn't even the word to describe it. Maybe it was something more, something than he was incapable of putting into words right now, either because he didn't wish to define himself, or his mind simply wouldn't allow it. Regardless, Tala was broken, and incapable of collecting the tarnished pieces in all attempts to putting himself back together. He doesn't pity himself - he will never pity himself, nor will he expect anyone else too - nor is he angry at Boris, nor the guards for what had to happen to him; he's angry at himself. Angry that he got so content with the moment that he allowed his mind to slip, angry that he'd paid more attention to Ian, and had seemed somewhat mesmerised with how the shorter bladers blade had devoured his opponents. Tala angry that he allowed himself to be so consumed within his friends victory that he didn't notice his own blade howling for his presence. Nothing, however, can quite explain what he feels for the tears that were shed in his own defence. Tala claims it as only weakness, a lesson hard earned, and he couldn't believe that after all this time, after everything he done - perfecting his stance and his launch, and the very way he battles - he'd crumbled, just like that.

The moonlight presses down upon him, a milky reflection that runs amongst the torn and scuffed texture of his flesh. A once porcelain exterior, almost as agile as a china plated doll, but as fierce as the brutal, cold wars, now he carries only cracks within the beds where innocence and purity had once lain. He's almost mesmerised as the glow of the moon trails down bare knees and slim legs, and within it's moment of glory, does it ignite the shameful colour of his knees. The blues and purples that fiercely blend into one another to ignite the impact of his knees crashing to the floor. Vague green spots are planted around the lower parts of his legs, _he's not even sure how he got those_ , but assumes it might have been the way he was once crouching, and how his fingers had embedded themselves. The redheaded child can still feel the cool drift of tears running along the shape of his face, typically dripping over the span of his nose, or forming just under his chin, just as he recalls the sour and salted taste as tears had pooled along his lips, and within his desperation had he attempted to clear them. Loss is sour after all, and victory can only be sweet.

After staring for too long, he pulls his knees closer towards him, mostly because within the splendour of the moonlight, they are not to be glamorised, and instead only remind him of his shame. His bruises are a reminder, and they are loss' trophy. Within the dark, his eyes can only make out the room that stares back at him, and thankfully, the dull night drowns out the discolouring of his knees. Within the dim night, he seems innocent, pure and pale, fierce and untouchable, and Tala prefers it like that. He prefers this notion of being untouched, like he is completely out of reach, like snarling hands cannot cast a shadow upon his flaking flesh, like claws cannot devour him. _Untouchable. It sounds nice_.

* * *

 _'Look at the mess you've made.' Tala is looking at it, whilst doing his utter best to not look at it. He'd learn from observations that it was better to simply not plead his case, nor beg for forgiven, nor promise that it would never happen. He'd learn to be one with the idea of your defeat and take the punishment that you so deserve. He uses his sleeves to dry at his sleeve and blot his nose in all efforts of keeping his weakness at bay, his other hand is within his lap, fingers still tight around the span of his blade, or what is left of it. Other pieces have been crammed underneath his sleeves, in the best efforts of maintaining all pieces and perhaps restoring it later on. A shadow looms above him, no doubt he knows exactly who this shadow belongs too. It's long and bulky, tall and overbearing, and Tala had never imagined Boris to be overbearing, but here he is, and Tala is threatening to shrink in upon himself._

 _He steadies himself and brings himself to look up towards him. Cerulean hue seems cold and distant, and Boris' expression seems to have turned stale. They meet one another with a sharp stare, except Tala feels like his might have sharper, but Boris' penetrated him first. 'It won't happen again, I assure you. I was foolish, and I am the only one to blame - a loss is not and never shall be acceptable, after all.' He doesn't say a word, but Tala is sure as hell thinking it. He can only imagine what shower of words Boris has for him - foolish boy just doesn't like it was enough to even touch the edges, never mind bruise him. Tala already knows that he is a foolish boy, thus finds that Boris' words does not have him recoiling, but in fact, agreeing. He finally comes to stand, respect given in all areas where it is due, but rather well rehearsed and emphasised, as if in the attempts of preventing himself from further humiliation, or worse... Being unworthy of Boris' programme, and finding himself back out on the streets._

 _The silence now has it's own echo, and Tala can feel it rebounding off of the walls. Or perhaps the very echoes are the breaths from the staring children, who all took the opportunity to deeply inhale, as Tala drew to stand at his fault... Which actually isn't that tall. The silence is broken however, broken by the sting of flesh against flesh. A sharp hiss is noted, and soon scolded when Tala rises back upon himself, hand shifting from his cheek. His best defence had been to withstand the harsh backhand of his teacher, and it had come. Quick and sharp, and Tala was almost certain that in the contact, Boris might have dislodged a tooth. That wasn't the case, and in fact, Tala's mind had simply gone into overdrive and one was simply exaggerating the matter. Instead he only tasted the metallic vermilion touch of blood. He had once imagined it to be sweet - saccharine sweet - but perhaps that was only when the blood was spilt from your opponent._

 _"Do you know what happens to the boys who fail?" Boris questions, and the question seems reasonable enough, and Tala almost wishes to reply with the obvious, when the truth is - he actually doesn't know what happens to them. Children make up rumours, typically the older boys - they make you write lines, a thousand of them, apologising for losing, and that didn't seem that bad. Or they make you undergo a severe training routine to prove that you are still fit and worthy of performing under BIOVOLT - Tala would be okay with that. He was athletic, and his previous training laps had been through the roof, in fact, he was often claimed as one of the best. But then there were other rumours, sorts that seemed unspeakable, and it had been Bryan who broke the silence to one time tell Tala about one of the punishments. Tala deemed it as so severe that it shouldn't be spoken about again, and so, neither mentioned it._

 _"We must learn that failure isn't and never shall be good enough." Precisely. Boris didn't even need to say it, nor confirm with a nod of his head, of course Tala was correct. His cerulean gaze is maintained, and does not falter even when Boris reaches to press his palm to the boys shoulder. Tala almost sighs in relief, almost claims himself the lucky one, the one that didn't have to be punished any further, but who was Boris to miss out of maintaining his position within the abbey? Why, if he let Tala go just like that, then he imagined the great force of the rebellion that would follow. He had to maintain his position and this hierarchy that he had created. That wave of relief that Tala almost felt, comes crashing down upon him, it strikes within the stomach and sits heavy with a sort of force that Tala simply cannot explain - he feels sick, ready to keel over, but that just won't do. It will never do._

* * *

Bryan had been the first to the silence. He hated this. They all hated this, the uncertainty... The not knowing how Tala was, or if he was still a part of the programme, never mind how Tala would look if he came to them. Ian had often initiated the conversation as to whether Tala would look the same, or if he'd appear somewhat different, not that Bryan had really understood what Ian had meant by that. Spencer had reminded them that Tala hadn't been away for that long - he'd been away for three weeks actually, which felt long enough to almost forget what somewhat looked like - and that it wasn't healthy of them to question if they'd recall what Tala would look like. In fact, he'd even reminded Ian to keep his mouth shut when Tala did come back to them, because he assumed the last thing Tala would want is for people to question what had, had happened to him.

"I still can't believe he lost." Ian whispers between his hands. He's more or less covering his mouth, because it's actually full of mouth, but also because he doesn't want to talk too loud and earn the attention of others. Spencer provides the shake of his head, the slight movement is enough to discipline Ian. The last thing Spencer wants to talk about, is Tala's defeat, never mind endure the the taunting notions that come when you mention his name to some of the older boys.

"Then stop talking about it, because it happened." Bryan snorts. Posture is lost, it's been lost for a while now, actually. He's hunched forward, miserable expression is visible amongst the snowfall complexion of his face. His left cheek is pressed tightly against his fist and his southward glare into his food is enough to scream pure disgust in the eyes of Spencer. He's simply poking at his food, poking it with the tips of his fork, turning it over and poking it once again, turning it over again, and so on. Spencer's mouth is pulled taut as he leans back slightly in his seat. Spencer probably hates this most of all, because Tala had been the most humane of them all, maintaining some sort of balance of peace and calm, even within their training. Sometimes it was like taking back to back exams just to get Bryan to actually run a lap, and sometimes Ian didn't feel all that interested in performing to his best some days, and Spencer had to remind them both that Tala had a fantastic right hand, and would use it if he found out that they had been slacking.

"You know moping about this isn't going to help." Spencer states.

"I'm not moping. I'm - _having a moment_." Bryan retorts, raising his gaze momentarily to look up at the other. He knows that Spencer means well, Spencer always does mean well. He's good person, and honestly? Bryan has to question how this kid got a place on the programme.

"You've had plenty of moments, Bry." Ian chimes. He's almost singsonging about it, but Spencer's glare prevents him from doing so. Bryan didn't need this. He also didn't need a lecture, but sometimes Spencer felt that, that was all he could offer him. Spencer wasn't like Tala. Tala was well rehearsed and apparently always knew what to say to calm a situation, not to mention that he also knew how to comfort someone, and also how to motivate people - that's why they needed him back.

"It's been three weeks." Bryan makes the outburst as he eventually puts his fork down. He's tired of playing about with his food, tired of feeling like he has to tiptoe around the idea of Tala not being here. Bryan totally hasn't been counting how long it's been - he claims - but just like Spencer and Ian, of course he'd kept a mental note of how long Tala had been away for. Part of him felt like it was part of the routine anyway, he'd seen other boys return after three weeks, but then again, they'd usually been the older boys, and they returned and never seemed the same. They always held themselves a lot closer than he had previously, and apparently they're guard is never down. They usually group within the furthest corners and stay far away from being noticed from onlooking eyes. Older boys that once held a face of mischief, holds one of hidden agony and some sort of understanding, that Bryan doesn't fully understand.

* * *

It might have seemed ridiculous of them to hang outside of his room - but they were doing it anyway. Stood there, sorting out their t-shirts and shoes, Ian was currently crouched down, attempting to double-knot his shoes. Just yesterday, during one of his laps, one his shoes had come undone, thus meaning that he had to run even faster, just to catch up with the rest of the group. Bryan stood still, completely, almost like a statue, with his hands deep within the pockets of the tracksuit pants that he wore. Spencer had maintained the crossed arms and the whole ducking of his head. They'd overheard the rumour that Tala had recently been allowed to return back to his room, thus meaning he was now ready to return to his practice, and naturally, the boys had followed the rumour with a light and collected themselves idly outside of his room. Spencer had reminded Ian not to chorus about where he had been, nor about the matter that he'd missed him, or basically... Whatever the hell else was possible for Ian to singsong about.

The door openly with slight noise, a faint creak that you wouldn't have noticed, if you truly were not paying attention. It's a light sound, and Tala clearly makes no effort to actually say anything. He simply stands within the doorway, pulling the material of his jacket over the span of his t-shirt. He does so in careful actions, as if the very moments of shuffling his arms into the material of his sleeves, seems to pain him, in some way. Tala finds that he's only aching now, but it's a dull ache that simply won't leave him alone. It grasps at limbs and burns lightly at flesh - a constant reminder of his defeat. Despite this, he's managed to maintain the snowfall complexion of his flesh, the idea that he is untouchable manages to lace itself amongst epidermis. The cerulean tinge of peaceful hue seems like it's blurred and dulled since Spencer has last seen him, but then - Spencer never really paid attention to the colour of Tala's eyes. His smile however still held his heart within the way it carefully twitched northwards. His smile wasn't a broad as it usually was, usually there was a flickering colour to the way Tala smiled, one that you couldn't get rid of, but something within Tala had been switched off, or something was simply holding him back.

"Rumour?" Tala inquires. Spencer barely provides a nod.

"Hardly a rumour. You're here." Ian states, his matter of fact pose, noted. Gods, had Tala missed this. Tala missed the matter of fact way that Ian spoke, and the careful and polite way that Spencer held himself, never mind the looming way in which Bryan conducted himself. The rooms below the abbey had been terrible. Dungeons, he had claimed them, and Boris had claimed they were simply rooms with temporary measures that would push Tala to limit. They were dungeons, Tala wasn't accepting them as anything else, but they'd been cold, and damp, and even the bed had lacked within comforts, and Tala had often found himself shuffling into different positions just to relax his aching limbs - the very thought of 'dungeons', made Tala miss his friends more so. Regardless of inward feelings, Tala makes no show of them, nor does he wish to make a play on them, and declare how damp and miserable below the abbey actually is, never mind how he actually came to miss these people. To do so, to even think of conducting one's way as such, is weakness, and equals defeat, and Tala shall not be claimed as such. He's been defeated once, and that one defeat is a defeat that is too many. After tucking the hem of his shirt into his trousers, and soon zipping the front of his jacket, he straightened his frame. Spencer couldn't tell if Tala was taller than what he was the last time he had seen him, or if Spencer had truly forgotten something about Tala. Nonetheless, Tala is still shorter than Spencer, and Spencer is silently claiming some ground as a victory.

"Mhm." Tala muses, though it felt as if it should have been more to himself, than to anyone else, though Ian heard, he simply said nothing else upon the matter. Apparently Tala had no interest in talking about what had happened to him, never mind talking about how he actually came to lose, and what made him lose his concentration in the first place. Perhaps, the basement of the abbey changed something about Tala. The truth is, it probably did. It changed the way that Tala saw himself, nothing more than a current loser who lost his concentration far too easily, but inner vows promised him, that would never happen again. He held himself with a firmer face, and found that he no longer greeted everyone with a smile, nor did he greet them with the friendly colouring of his eyes. He met them with a cerulean stare, one of dulled oceans and severed waves - he met you with a chill, like he was the very embodiment of a Russian winter.

"To practice then?" Spencer finally inquires, though it's more of: yes, we're going to practise, than anything else. He's already began walking, with Tala aside of him, and Ian and Bryan to follow in behind them. Spencer can't tell if he's walking slow enough, or if Tala really has grown and has managed to maintain a lacking distance between them, nonetheless, he looms like a shadow, and matches every step that Spencer takes. Momentarily, there is an exchange of silence, a fury of breaths that slip between mouths, and Bryan isn't too sure if he's ever felt a silence like this. Tala has. Tala danced within it and begged for no man nor boy to pity him. It is Tala that finally breaks the silence, if he hadn't already done so with the heavy stepping of his feet.

"I have an opponent to beat into next week." A vow. _A promise_. **A threat**.

* * *

Wow, hey, so there we go. Tala just made a threat, and I think he's pretty damn certain that he's going to go through with it. So clear up some questions, yeah, in the first chapter, Tala lost to just some random kid. No one in particular, just another kid. So expect another chapter sometime soon. I hope you enjoyed this, because I felt a little bad putting Tala through this. It is definitely implied that Tala suffered physical abuse - lashing/strikes was usually common, and is usually across one's bare back/spine. Once again, I hope you enjoy this, and if you have the time, please feel free to review it and give me your thoughts and ideas for a third chapter, or even a completely different story. But if you can't, please do not feel pressured into doing so - your viewing will still mean the world to me. Thank you guys, I love you! - Ellis. xxxx


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